


Get Thee To A Nunnery

by Owenjones



Series: Good Omens One Shots [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/F, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female Crowley (Good Omens), Flirty Crowley (Good Omens), Historical Inaccuracy, Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Inspired by Real Events, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Body Modification, One Shot, Protective Crowley, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 02:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21330415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owenjones/pseuds/Owenjones
Summary: “What are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked accusingly.She smirked, “Thought I’d take up the habit, what do you think?”“Oh, absolutely not, Crowley.”“Actually, these days I’ve been going by Julie D’Aubigny. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?"Inspired by the actual life of Julie d'Aubigny and the rescue of her girlfriend. If you haven't heard of her, go look her up.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens One Shots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1453525
Comments: 10
Kudos: 64





	Get Thee To A Nunnery

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on a much longer ineffable wives fic right now and this idea popped into my head, hope you enjoy  
Also, I know nothing about religion, so if there are any mistakes or inaccuracies I apologize!

“What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, all--”

Among the sound of Shakespeare’s lines being performed was the faint sound of a miracle being performed. Aziraphale was far too busy watching the play to take note, enraptured by Burbage’s every word. In fact, he didn’t notice the presence appearing beside him until he placed a heavy hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. The grapes he had been enjoying all fell to the ground as he startled from the sudden heavenly ambush.

“What exactly are you doing?” The Archangel Gabriel asked.

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open and closed a few times as he searched for an acceptable answer, and finally he managed to say, “Erm, I’m watching this… this show. Hamlet… Shakespeare?”

_“O, help him, you sweet heavens!”_ the actor playing Ophelia cried out, pleading to a higher authority while Burbage played up the insanity of his character.

“You _enjoy_ this?” said Gabriel.

“It’s a lovely, emotional story--”

“About a man murdering his uncle?” he sneered, “As light entertainment? It doesn’t seem befitting of an angel.”

“Well -- there are many themes that relate in particular to… biblical --”

Gabriel interrupted him, “And what is with the ridiculous get up?” He went on, tugging at Aziraphale’s Elizabethan collar, “Quite ostentatious.”

“I have to blend in with the humans--” 

“This goes beyond what’s necessary. If you are to set a good example for the sinners, you are not to engage in sinful acts yourself. Do you understand?” Aziraphale gulped.

_“Get thee to a nunnery, go. Farewell,”_ Burbage spat out with his usual fervor, capturing the attention of everyone in the theater, including Gabriel.

He hummed, “Well, perhaps this performance extols more virtues than I thought.”

Aziraphale bit his tongue so as not to correct him that the line was meant as a euphemism for a brothel. 

“That’s not a bad idea…” Gabriel began to walk out of the Globe Theatre. Aziraphale cautiously followed, careful not to step on any of the grapes he had dropped.

Gabriel’s wide strides forced Aziraphale to jog to keep up, “What did you say?”

“Where do you reside?” Gabriel asked off-handedly, “Still at the cottage on the other side of town?”

“Erm, that’s right.” And the hand gripped his shoulder once again. Gabriel snapped his fingers and they were suddenly inside Aziraphale’s little, cluttered abode. Scrolls and books filled every surface, and the cabinets were well-stocked with alcohol, food, tea sets, and the most luxurious clothes. 

Gabriel said under his breath, “This will have all have to go.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked desperately. 

“I’ll be back next week and I expect this all to be gone by the time I return.” Gabriel waved a hand around, gesturing to the mess. Then, he reached up to snap his fingers to teleport himself back to head office.

“Wait,” Aziraphale pleaded, stopping him just in time, “You want me to… miracle away all these items?”

Gabriel scoffed, “_Miracle?_ No, far too frivolous. Get rid of it the human way.” He waved dismissively. 

“Shall I throw it out?” Aziraphale asked with a strained voice.

“Of course not! Sell it! When I get back, I expect you to have nothing but the clothes on your back and the money you made.” He finally teleported away. 

Aziraphale was left alone in his house. He let out a breath of resignation and began to pack up his things. He couldn’t disobey.

\---

“Wonderful!” Gabriel said, striding around Aziraphale, “All your material belongings are gone. You did better than I expected.”

Aziraphale hadn’t even had a chance to mourn his collection of books; he could barely hock them in the time he was given. And now, all he had left was some plain robes and a bag of coins, which he handed over to Gabriel when asked. He brushed it aside and it vanished into thin air.

Gabriel rubbed his hands together, “One last thing before we part ways. You can’t fit in the way you are now.” 

Suddenly, his hands were everywhere, prodding every inch of Azirphale’s body, manipulating it with his touch. His corporeal form relented like clay, allowing Gabriel to transform him. The squeezes and tugs were not painful, but they were intolerable in a different sort of way. Aziraphale shut his eyes tightly, hoping that if he didn’t move, it would be over sooner. 

The body she inhabited quickly became something that wasn’t her own. The robes hung from her shoulders, far too big for her now. Her hair draped its way down to her chest that now protruded. Finally, Gabriel took his hands off, and the next time she blinked, she was standing on the doorstep of an abbey, teary eyed after the invasive touching. She looked behind her and realized she was quite alone. She hadn’t been allowed a chance to ask him when she would be allowed to rejoin normal society. Her tears began to flow a bit stronger.

A few people came out to fetch her. The Sisters hadn’t been put off by her crying, rather they seemed to have been expecting it. They took her by the arm and led her inside. When they greeted her, she realized with some horror that she was placed in a French convent. She couldn’t speak a word of French. She tried communicating that fact, but it seemed as though the Sisters could understand her just as well as she could understand them. 

She was dragged into a small room in the convent, where she was stripped, bathed, and had her hair messily chopped off. 

Why had Gabriel given her that hair if it was all going to be cut off in the end?

She was given a plain habit to wear, and was taken to who she assumed was the abbess. She was an intimidating figure, and she held out the bag that Aziraphale had given to Gabriel. The money must have been to secure her spot in the convent. The nun in charge began to speak in quick French, despite Aziraphale’s lack of understanding. 

She called out a name, and a Sister approached. They spoke for a moment before the new Sister turned to Aziraphale and asked in a heavy accent, “What is your name?”

“Aziraphale,” She responded. 

They spoke again, then she turned back, “Will you take your vows?”

Aziraphale nodded haltingly. She did as she was told; she said what they wanted her to say. She was to live in poverty, chastity, and obedience. 

Her room left her shivering and wanting for comfort every night. As an angel, Aziraphale didn’t need to sleep, but she found that she couldn’t even if she wanted to. Instead, she quickly got in the habit of mulling over all her memories during the hours that everyone else was asleep. Crowley showed up more than a few times every night -- in her mind, of course. Her favorite memories were often inextricably tied with the demon, and her complicated feelings for him. 

The Arrangement had been in full swing for about a century, and the two of them had been seeing a lot of each other in the most recent decades. Aziraphale wondered what Crowley was doing at that moment. Probably something evil, she mused, he is a demon after all. Or perhaps he had managed to get some shut-eye, as he so liked to do. 

The question of whether Crowley would notice Aziraphale’s sudden absence pricked her mind many of those nights. 

During the day, Aziraphale carefully compartmentalized those thoughts, so as to not interrupt with her convent duties. They went by quicker if she managed to switch her mind off.

The nuns kept a strict daily routine, which when combined with Aziraphale’s inability to fall asleep, caused the days to blend into one another. Her life had become an endless series of prayer, toiling, bland meals, more prayer, and two lovely hours a day where Aziraphale was permitted to work in the libraries. 

The abbess found an immediate dislike to Aziraphale, and the breakdown of communication certainly didn’t help foster a friendly relationship. Aziraphale had begun to pick up a little bit of the language -- enough to get by, but the abbess did not have a tolerance for the slightest mistake in grammar. And Aziraphale made many mistakes.

The other Sisters were also unsettled by the strange British nun that had joined their convent. They thought that she held herself in a way that was almost holier-than-thou, which they didn’t like much. And her attempts to communicate often led both parties more frustrated than anything else. 

One dreary evening, she retired to bed early, exhausted by the day’s work. She was feeling particularly lonely and wanted to retreat into her memories of conversations past as soon as possible.

Suddenly, the hairs at the back of her neck began to tingle with the eerie sensation of being watched. She turned and saw her room just as empty as it had been before. Aziraphale chided herself for being so silly, but the feeling never went away. 

She climbed into bed and shut her eyes, but swore that she heard something. She took another careful look around and startled. There was a figure sitting in her windowsill, casually. As though they did this sort of thing all the time and found themselves rather bored with it. Whoever it was was silhouetted by the moonlight, their identity rendered indecipherable. 

Aziraphale mustered up all her strength to shout, “Begone, whoever you are!”

The figure turned their head and revealed their eyes, shining from what little light there was around. Slitted pupils cut through the golden orbs. A little shiver of hope ran up her spine. There was only one being she knew that had those eyes.

“Crowley…?” Aziraphale breathed.

“Aziraphale,” She responded.

Aziraphale climbed out of bed to regard her closer. She was dressed unlike she had ever seen her in all the thousands of years they had been enemies. Though obviously she had taken a female form, she was wearing trousers, and she had a sword hanging by her side. 

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked accusingly. 

She smirked, “Thought I’d take up the habit, what do you think?”

“Oh, absolutely not, Crowley.”

“Actually, these days I’ve been going by Julie D’Aubigny. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think. I trust you’ve heard of my reputation?”

Aziraphale wrinkled her brow, and remained silent. 

“Oh! Well, allow me to explain.” Crowley hopped off the window ledge and began to prowl around Aziraphale, who nervously watched her stride, “I have made a name for myself in the opera house as a leading lady. People come from all over just to watch me sing.”

Suddenly her sword was swished out of its scabbard. Aziraphale jumped back as she explained, “I’ve taken up swordplay, and have defeated dozens of men who stood in my way.”

She strut closer and gently nudged Aziraphale’s chin up with the sword, “And I’m also known as the best lay in all of Europe. By both men and women.”

“Oh good Lord,” Aziraphale’s breath caught in her throat. 

She backed off, “A temptress for the ages, don’t you think?”

“Well done,” Aziraphale said quickly, rushing back to sit on the bed, “Remarkably… tempting.”

“I suppose so,” Crowley leaned against the wall and her tone turned melancholic, “I need to be honest with you. My job has gotten far too easy, Aziraphale. I'm afraid it’s no fun anymore.” 

“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Aziraphale, busying herself with the hem of her sleeves.

“No fun at all!” Crowley proclaimed, “I thought I might try something new, like convent life. I can say, so far I’m not impressed. What’s so good about this place that you decided to stay here?” 

“Erm…” 

“No, wait, let me guess.” Crowley sheathed her sword and placed a pensive finger on her chin, “Why would the same Aziraphale who quit the Knights of the Round Table because of the lack of quality food decide to take up a life of asceticism?” 

She paced around the room for a moment, “It’s gotta be the female form. I know how nice it is to switch it up every now and then, but I never thought I’d see you…”

Aziraphale tugged at her nightgown uncomfortably.

“Maybe not…” Crowley pondered for another second, “The books! They’ve got huge libraries in these places, no?”

“It’s mainly religious doctrines…” Aziraphale mumbled.

Crowley frowned, “Not that either, huh? The company, then?” she turned away, “Though I really can’t see what’s so great about a bunch of dusty, old fundamentalists--”

“Crowley, please!” Aziraphale scolded.

“Wait a second…” Crowley prowled close, leaning over Aziraphale, “You don’t want to be here.” 

“What a ridiculous notion.” Aziraphale said, “A life like this is one befitting of an angel.”

“I’m right, aren’t I? You’re miserable here!” 

Aziraphale tried to change the subject, “Why have you decided to come to this abbey? What are you plotting, you serpent?”

Her face slowly began to light up, “Well, I stopped by because I had a certain set of orders. I’m to join up as a postulate and tempt the Sisters away from their holy vows.”

Aziraphale gasped, “You wouldn’t…”

“Orders from the very top — Er, bottom.” She crept closer, “Can’t exactly say no.”

“Crowley… you can't.”

She went on, “But, you know, I think Hell would be happy enough so long as I tempted at least _one_ nun. I only need one to say that I did the job.”

Aziraphale squinted suspiciously, “What are you suggesting?”

“It would be a shame if I tempted the wrong nun out of the habit; if I targeted someone who isn’t a mortal.” Crowley’s tongue flickered out of her mouth.

“I don’t know _what_ you are implying--”

“Vow of obedience -- it’s broken as easily as…” Crowley snapped and the bars on the window opened for her, “That.” 

“Crowley, no.”

She stretched her arms out, “Smell the fresh air! Much better than this stuffy old room.”

“You must leave. I can’t let you stay one second longer.”

“You do realize that when I leave, I’m going to go off tempting nobility away from their ruling duties. Nuns away from their vows. Merchants away from their… merchanting. The longer I talk to you, the longer I’m not putting my hellish influences into the world.”

The wall between them was beginning to chip away. Dozens of different emotions flew across Aziraphale’s eyes as she went through the reasoning herself.

Crowley tried again, “Come on, I’m obviously up to no good. And what do you do when you see a wile? You thwart.”

Aziraphale fretted for a moment, digging her teeth into her bottom lip, “I suppose… Heaven couldn’t actually object to…” 

Crowley lifted herself up onto the windowsill, and held out a hand, “What do you say?”

Aziraphale took her hand and was in the air in the next second. Crowley had flown out the window to the ground, dragging Aziraphale behind her. They rolled on the grass just as the room combusted. A ball of flames shot out the window and started licking up the side of the building.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, “What the hell did you just do?”

Crowley sauntered away from the building that was now aflame, “What? Little arson never hurt anybody.”

Aziraphale grabbed her arm, “There are people in there!”

Crowley rolled her eyes, “They’ll all find their doors unlocked,” The church bell miraculously began to ring, loud enough to wake everyone up, “See, no one will be harmed. Wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.”

Aziraphale let out a soft breath, “Oh, thank the Lord.”

“No need to bring Her into this.” Crowley peered back over her shoulder to see Aziraphale stuck in place, watching the fire eat up the building, “Oh, do keep up, Sister. I’ve got something to show you.”

Aziraphale stumbled along after her, tripping over the bramble, “Where are you off to?”

“Surprise.” Crowley responded. And Aziraphale was helpless to follow.

They walked to a nearby house, which Crowley said was her own. Instead of going up to the door, Crowley began to make her way around the back. She motioned for Aziraphale to come closer. 

She led her to some basement doors, which she opened with a thought. Aziraphale helpfully supplied the lighting for their journey down the stairs. They made it down to the underground room, which was filled to the brim with all sorts of junk. It was a surprise, as Aziraphale had never known Crowley to be such a hoarder. Though as she began to examine the objects closer, her hand flew to cover her mouth. She gasped, “Oh, Crowley. You shouldn’t have.”

All of her things were there. Everything she had sold to various mortals was now adorning the shelves and cupboards of Crowley’s basement. They didn’t dare get a speck of dust on them, at Crowley’s insistence. 

“How did you…?” Aziraphale found herself muttering. 

“I saw some bugger wearing something that looked familiar. And when I approached him, I realized it was exactly the outfit you were wearing when we went to go see A Midsummer Night’s Dream. And so…” Crowley shrugged, “I got it back. Later on, I smelled someone wearing your cologne, so I got that back too. Every time I ran into something of yours, I got it back.” 

“My dear…” Aziraphale was practically speechless. She stroked her hand carefully over the pile of beautifully decorated, misprinted bibles to make sure that they were real. Even touching them, she could hardly believe it. She picked one up and began to flip through the pages.

“There goes vow number two. Poverty” said Crowley, leaning smugly against the wall, “Only one more to go.”

Aziraphale looked doe-eyed at Crowley, and confirmed, “Only one more.”

She set down the book and took a step over to the demon, who’s cool demeanor shriveled up the closer she got. 

“Angel, I was only kidding.”

Aziraphale bit her lip and took another step. For the first time in ages, Aziraphale felt like she was regaining a sense of control over her body. She had a growing and desperate need to break the final vow and sever any last connection with the horrid nunnery. All the while, Crowley’s face turned more and more red, and her protestations more incoherent. They had done this game before -- many times in fact -- but it had never gone this route. 

“You don’t have to. Honestly -- it’s -- it’s fine. Leave your last vow unbroken for all I care.”

“You don’t want to?” Aziraphale asked, tilting her head.

“Ngk--” responded Crowley, “You’re supposed to say no. You’ve always --”

“And what if I don’t?”

Aziraphale was going totally off-script. A flirt, a wink, a nudge from Crowley, then an eye roll, a tutting, a glare from Aziraphale. That was how it was supposed to go. That was how it had always gone. And the angel was now close enough that it was only an inch of space that kept them apart. Her face revealed nothing but pure affection.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley said, voice quivering, “Say no.”

The space between them was quickly shrinking. Aziraphale held onto Crowley’s face with both hands and began to lean in.

She was shoved away, Crowley slithered back, “Are you mad? I was only kidding. You can’t, or you’ll -- You can’t.” 

Her face fell, and Crowley’s heart tore in two when Aziraphale asked, “Do you really not want to?”

“It’s not about what I want.”

“Then why can’t I?” Aziraphale asked harshly.

“You’ll Fall,” Crowley shouted, “You stupid angel. You’ll Fall and it would be my fault.”

“Oh…” Aziraphale let out a breath, “Right.”

“Take your things and go,” She spun around and began up the stairs, turning just before she made her exit to say, “Or leave ‘em if you want. I don’t care.”

“Crowley, thank--”

“Don’t thank me.” And the door was shut between them once again.


End file.
